


The Achilles Heel Job

by Nellied



Category: Leverage
Genre: 5 Things, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Humor, Light Angst, Multi, Pre-OT3, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25574659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellied/pseuds/Nellied
Summary: They con people, they steal things, and they look good doing it. But even hypercompetent thieves have to have their weaknesses, right?(Or, five things the Leverage crew can't do, as revealed via a high-stakes game of charades, a Saratoga Stumble, Hacker Alexa, a pair of missing shoes, and two very confused diner guests).
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer, Sophie Devereaux/Nathan Ford
Comments: 91
Kudos: 236





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm back, with a fic that was basically born when I wondered what skills the Leverage crew *don't* have, and then spiralled hard, resulting in this 5 + 1-ish thing. The romance, although it's there, ended up quite minimal (it's more about the team dynamic than anything), and I may have got a little too invested in all the cons, but I do like how this turned out!
> 
> As usual, my work is un-beta'd, so feel free to let me know if there are any confusing typos or offputtingly British turns of phrase. And if not, I hope you enjoy ^-^

  
One of these days, Eliot thought, dabbing at the red wine stain spreading across his previously pristine white shirt, _he_ was gonna be the suave art dealer, and _Nate_ could be the waiter.

"Oh, you think you could do my job, do you?"

The hitter rolled his eyes.

"I just don't see why _you_ never end up serving poorly-made canapés to rich assholes who can't tell a vol-au-vent from a croline."

And Nate was chuckling down the line, because of course he was. _Bastard_.

"It's not funny, they really- "

"Hush now, children, some of us are working."

 _Oops_. That would be Sophie.

"Sorry, Soph," Nate mumbled, and Eliot had to bite back a smile at the sheepish tone of voice.

The comms were quiet for a while, then, and Eliot dabbed a little harder, but he was beginning to think the shirt might be a write-off. He sighed. He couldn't very well go back in there looking like that. At best, he'd be sent to go change, and at worst, he might get thrown out of the venue entirely.

He cast his eyes round the industrial kitchen he'd ended up in, desperately hoping that somebody would have left a shirt or a jacket, something he could use to cover up, but no, no such luck. Instead, he just caught his own reflection in the shiny surface of an oven door, wide-eyed, irritated, and more rumpled than he cared to admit. He looked _drunk_ , he thought. Then the solution hit him.

"Guys, what if I ditch the whole waiter thing, and just pretend to be a drunk guest?"

The team's doubt was obvious, even over the comms, and Eliot found himself shaking his head in frustration.

"They stopped doing ID checks half an hour ago, and nobody likes paying attention to a sloppy drunk anyway. I'd practically be invisible."

 _As long as I don't act so drunk they call security_ , he added mentally. Still, it would work, if he could just-

"No. No, no, no, no, too risky. What if somebody remembers you as their waiter?"

Eliot groaned. Trust Nate to be a mother-hen about it. 

"They won't, I'll keep a low profile."

And now Hardison was making skeptical noises at him. Perfect. He shook his head.

"May I remind you all that while I'm stuck in here trying to do frickin' _dry cleaning_ , Sophie's out there with Gauthier's guys practically treading on her toes."

"I've got them in line-of-sight," Sophie cut in, somewhat defensively, but then somebody must have wanted to talk to her, because suddenly all the team could hear was a distant murmur of polite French conversation.

"All the more reason to get back in there," Eliot muttered darkly.

He could almost see Nate shaking his head. "There's got to be another way, what if you-"

"I've been gone too long," Eliot interrupted him. "Dr. Leclerc was alone for ten minutes before they moved in. I've been gone almost seven."

The unspoken concern was enough to get a grunt of acquiescence from Nate.

"Okay, get over there. Not that I think you can't handle yourself, Sophie," - and that got him a distracted hum of approval from the grifter - "but I'd feel a lot better if Eliot were there to keep an eye on things."

The hitter didn't need telling twice. With a crumpling of his shirt and some tactical mussing-up of his hair, he figured he probably looked drunk enough and staggered back out into the main gallery, making sure not to attract too much attention. Slowly but surely, he worked his way over to Sophie.

She was hovering in a quieter side gallery, not too far from the main exit. Probably waiting for the signal to leave. She'd gotten the information she wanted half an hour ago, after all, so at this point, they were just waiting for Parker to report back.

"You can pretend to be interested in the Gauguin to her left, if you want eyes on the goons," Hardison chipped in. "It's the one that's bright green and problematic as hell."

Eliot rolled his eyes, but there it was, in all its colorful, Tahitian glory, and there, next to it, were Gauthier's hired men. Ex special forces, he noted, but out of practice. One of them was slouching. Sloppy, really.

He turned, and as he turned he caught Sophie's eye. She was clearly finishing up a conversation, and as the man she was chatting with left to get a drink, she wandered in Eliot's direction, aimlessly enough for it not to look deliberate.

As she got closer, he could tell she was on edge. Sure, she was good at hiding it, but Eliot had known her long enough to see through the mask. He shot her an inquiring look, his brain scanning furiously through all the possibilities, until she shook her head, almost imperceptibly. He looked again, and sure enough, her expression didn't seem troubled. More... bored? 

Then she grimaced, her eyes flickering to something just behind him. Carefully, Eliot looked over his shoulder. The man from before was back, champagne in hand, and waving enthusiastically at Sophie with a lovestruck smile that Eliot knew all too well.

He shot a glance back at Sophie. Boredom, still, plus mild irritation, and a touch of carefully-masked contempt. He almost felt sorry for the guy. 

As the man struck up a conversation again, Eliot did his level best to feign interest in the Gauguin, all the while keeping an eye on Gauthier's men. He'd just about worked out where the second guy's backup knife was holstered - it was in his shoe - when Parker's voice came crackling through his comms.

"I'm in, and I've got the files. Also I stole Laurent's plant. He wasn't watering it enough."

On the other end, he could hear a quiet sigh of relief. Nate, he presumed.

"Good job, Parker. Time to see what these guys are really involved in. Bring the plant, we might be able to use it. And Eliot, Soph? Take your time leaving, we don't want your new friends getting suspicious."

Eliot hummed an affirmative. No point blowing it now. He'd wait until Sophie was done with her conversation and then they could leave, nice and leisurely. Maybe look at a couple more paintings on the way out. 

He glanced towards Sophie again, wondering how long she might be, then froze as a sudden chill ran down his spine. 

Something was wrong.

He couldn't tell what it was, that was the worst thing. Everything looked just fine. Sophie seemed relaxed, and Gauthier's men weren't even looking their way, for God's sake! So why was every fiber of Eliot's being suddenly screaming at him to _find the danger, protect the team, get out?_

He took a breath, compressing the panic down into something more productive. 

_First things first. Assess the situation. What's going on?_

Eliot strained his ears to hear the conversation. The man was talking, his French fast and lightly accented. Something, something, post-Impressionism. Something else, brush strokes. Something vaguely flirtatious that Eliot didn't quite catch. Normal art gallery small talk, as far as the hitter could tell.

He waited for Sophie's response, to better gauge things, but the response never came. The guy just kept on talking.

Eliot furrowed his brow. The guy hadn't been this chatty before, had he? Surely he'd have noticed if Sophie hadn't been getting a word in edgeways?

Only now he thought about it, he wasn't so certain. Sure, a conversation had happened. But now he thought about it, he couldn't have told you anything that Sophie had been saying, and the comms really should've been picking that up. 

Before Eliot could pursue that line of thought, though, the man barked out a raucous laugh, clearly amused. But for the life of him, Eliot couldn't have said what Sophie had done. Had he missed something?

Then it happened again, and this time, Eliot knew his ears weren't deceiving him. Sophie had hummed and tilted her head slightly, and the guy had responded as if she'd told the funniest joke he'd ever heard.

And she just kept doing it. The conversation carried on, and every single time Sophie should have said something, she'd just make some kind of noise, or gesture, and the guy she was talking to would fill in the blanks and react accordingly. 

Eliot was staring at the two of them now, fascinated, and he knew it wasn't subtle, but screw that, because now he knew what Sophie was doing, he was finding it very hard to look away. Sometimes he would even find himself getting drawn into it himself, smiling at something Sophie had just said, or mentally agreeing with her.

_Damn. She's good._

He felt the tension ebb away. Sophie had things under control. Nothing was wrong. Something was _weird_ , yes, but nothing was wrong.

He waited until the non-conversation seemed to have tapered off, then gave it another thirty seconds or so. Finally, with the man gone and Gauthier's men still standing around like lemons - _so unprofessional, honestly_ \- Eliot could make his move, strolling casually over to Sophie.

"We good to go?" he asked quietly, as soon as they were close enough to talk. Sophie nodded, and they headed for the exit.

As they approached the door, though, Sophie grabbed his arm, steering him towards the cloakroom.

"My coat," she murmured by way of explanation. "It was a gift from the Duchess of Somerset, I shouldn't like to lose it."

Eliot let himself be led through to the cloakroom, where Sophie had her coat brought through, an elegant cream affair that even Eliot could tell was probably worth a fortune. As they left, the grifter pulled him aside into a niche that he hadn't even noticed was there, subtly taking her earbud out and gesturing at Eliot to do the same.

"Okay, what's going on here?" she asked, as soon as that was done, sounding less than impressed.

Eliot frowned.

"We're leaving?"

Sophie shook her head.

"I meant what's going on with _you?_ You're looking at me like I've grown a second head. You have been for the last ten minutes."

Eliot blinked. She hadn't even been looking his way, how could she possibly-

"Oh, come on, you don't grift as well as I do and _not_ learn to watch people without them noticing."

Alright, apparently she could read his mind. Their grifter had psychic powers. 

Now she was _really_ looking at him strangely. 

Eliot shook his head.

"It's not important."

She didn't even reply to that, just raised one elegant, sarcastic eyebrow. Eliot felt a twinge of irritation at the dismissiveness of it, followed by a full-blown surge of annoyance that he hadn't even realised was there. Suddenly he was speaking again, angrier this time.

"Okay, fine. You know what, it is important, because what the _hell?_ Were you playing with that guy? Was it some kind of challenge for you? "I'm a fancy-schmancy conwoman, let's see if I can have a whole conversation without talking, because that _totally_ won't get me or any of my team thrown in the Seine!" It was reckless, Soph."

The series of expressions that played across the grifter's face was quite something to behold. A flash of surprise, then hurt, irritation and ... approval?

Eliot blinked, but there was definitely something approving in the way Sophie was looking at him. Proud, even. 

"You noticed."

Eliot huffed. "How the hell could I not? One minute you were talking, the next you were playing Charades, for Chrissake! How am I supposed to ignore that?"

Sophie shrugged.

"Everyone else missed it."

And that was true, and he was gonna have words with the others when he got back about that particular oversight, but it didn't make things any better, because it still didn't answer his main question.

"Why, though? Why risk the job for - for what, for kicks? For shits and giggles?"

She looked at him strangely, like was missing the point entirely.

"He was speaking French, Eliot."

_Huh? Non sequitur much?_

"We're in France, that's generally what people do."

She shook her head, and this time there was something else there. Indignation? No wait, _embarrassment_.

But that made no sense. Not unless...

And then it clicked.

"You don't speak French."

It seemed impossible, but the silence that followed this statement was confirmation enough. For a good few seconds, Eliot just goggled at her, not sure where to even begin.

Finally, the words came tumbling out of him almost unbidden.

"You don't speak French. You, Sophie Devereaux, with the high society contacts and the sophisticated interests and - oh, yeah - the _frickin' French surname_ , you don't speak French?"

She had the good grace to look embarrassed, at least.

"I never learned," she shrugged, blushing. "And the name's Norman, it's as English as they come."

Eliot shook his head.

"How did we not know this before?"

"It never really came up."

Well, that was patently untrue.

"What about Geneva?"

"My company was based in Bern. We spoke German all evening."

Eliot shook his head.

"Monaco."

"Which time?"

"Either."

"Italian, then Spanish"

"Brussels?"

"Nederlands, en dan engels met de ambassadeur."

Eliot shook his head, incredulous.

"So you speak all the languages _but_ French?"

She shrugged.

"Just about. I thought you knew."

Eliot was about to object to that, when something else occurred to him.

"Didn't you pose as a French opera singer for an entire month that one time?"

"Oh, I'd forgotten about that," the grifter smirked. "Marie was fun. Had a terrible case of nodules though. Tragic, really. Couldn't speak a single word, it was quite the talk of Paris."

Eliot shook his head again.

"You are unbelievable, you know that?"

The smirk became a full-blown grin, wicked and conspiratorial.

"So I've been told."

Eliot rolled his eyes, but the irritation he was feeling before was gone. 

"How'd you even manage to not know French, that's what I wanna know. They not teach it that at whatever expensive-ass finishing school you went to?"

Sophie actually chuckled at that.

"No, I went to a regular school, more or less. I think the French teacher was sick, or something, the year we were supposed to start. We learned German instead."

She spoke quietly, with a faint smile, and it struck Eliot this this was the most he'd ever heard about Sophie's upbringing. It was so... normal. Not wishing to push, he changed the topic quickly.

"And then instead of picking it up later, you just, what - figured out how to fake having an actual French conversation?"

Sophie shrugged.

"It's not that hard. I can do it in English too."

"No you can't."

She shot him a look.

"Okay, but he was half in love with you, it doesn't count."

An incline of her head, as if to disagree.

"Oh, he was, trust me. If he hadn't been-"

Another look, interrupting him, much more pointed this time, and finally he twigged.

 _Damn_.

"Okay, point made," he sulked. "Really, Soph?"

She shrugged.

"What can I say? It's not that hard. People tend to fill in the gaps."

He huffed.

"Well you don't use it on me, okay? Bad enough that you programmed me to make you tea, I don't need any more of your mind control hocus-pocus. Got it?"

Sophie looked like she was trying not to laugh.

"Sure. No more mind control."

Eliot stared at her, hard.

"I promise," she added, more sincerely this time, before hesitating. "Just... could you maybe not mention this to the others, when we get back?"

And by that, she meant Nate. Because heaven forbid the two of them just _tell_ each other things like this.

To be fair, there was a non-negligeable chance in this specific case that Nate would be an asshole about it. But it wasn't like Eliot had a choice, in the end, was it?

"Should have gotten me to turn off my buttonhole camera. I'm sure Hardison had the feed up the moment you pulled our comms."

The grifter's face was a picture, and Eliot just couldn't help it.

"Say "bonjour", Soph," he said, and then, as patronizingly as he could, "It means "hello"."

He probably deserved the punch in the arm that earned him, as Sophie promptly spun on her heel and headed for the main exit, hurrying to salvage her reputation as an international woman of mystery.

 _As if she wasn't impressive enough already,_ he thought, watching her rapidly disappearing form. _Sophie Deveraux, ladies and gentlemen. A woman who truly never fails to surprise._


	2. Chapter 2

It had almost been a month, and Nate still hadn't let go of the French thing, arsehole that he was.

The others had had their fun, sure, but after a couple of days of jokes about baguettes and croissants and Lord knows what else, they seemed to have dropped it, more or less.

Nate, on the other hand, still seemed to take pleasure in making random comments in what Sophie could only assume to be flawlessly accentless, terribly witty French. And of _course_ Parker or Hardison or whoever happened to be around would laugh, which only encouraged him.

Honestly, it felt a little like the mastermind was pulling her pigtails, and Sophie did not care for it one jot.

"I told you already, it's not funny. It stopped being funny about... what, ten minutes after we boarded the plane home?"

Nate shrugged.

"I dunno, Soph, I think the joke still has a certain... _je ne sais quoi_."

God, he was infuriating. She closed her eyes for a second and just breathed.

_Focus on the job, not the irritation. Focus on the job._

Her eyes snapped open.

"A Saratoga Stumble."

And _now_ Nate was looking at her with the respect she deserved. She could almost see the cogs turning in his head.

"Flip it?" 

She thought for a second. It would be unorthodox, admittedly, but-

"It could work, if we plant the runner-up, like for a Boston Quadrille."

Nate grinned.

"Naturally."

A cough interrupted them.

"Care to explain?"

She spun round to see Eliot and Parker staring at her from the sofa, both looking more than a little lost. She sighed.

"A Saratoga Stumble. It's a classic con. Comes from horse racing. You convince your mark to bet on a horse that seems to be on the up. Some unknown newcomer, a real underdog story for them to get behind. What you don't tell them is that you own that horse, and it's about to have a very bad day at the races. The horse stumbles, the mark loses their money, and the company with whom they placed the bet - which you also own - makes a fortune."

Parker frowned.

"How're you supposed to flip it, then? You make sure the mark _wins?_ "

Sophie chuckled. "No, you make sure the mark bets _against_ you, puts their money on the next-best horse. You oversell your dark horse, talk it up a little too much, make the mark suspicious. They put all their money on a second horse - which, for this version of the con, you _also_ own - and then surprise! The horse you said would win all along does win, the mark loses their money and you get to just shrug and say "I told you so." It's rather elegant, really."

Parker was nodding along thoughtfully, but Eliot was frowning.

"We're not doing anything with horses. No doping, no -"

But Nate was already shaking his head.

"Wouldn't work anyway. Jamison's not the sort. He's a gambler - we know that. But it's not gonna be horses. It'll be something else, something-"

"Chess. It's chess."

The four of them spun round to where Hardison was standing in the doorway, waving his phone at them all.

"He's been tweeting about some national tournament for _months_ , meetups, travel plans, all that jazz. Looks like he used to play competitively, only gave it up when he founded VitaTech."

Eliot was frowning.

"Do people even bet on chess?"

A moment's pause while Hardison did some Googling, and then -

"Yes. Yes, they most certainly do."

Eliot took one look at the numbers and whistled.

"Lots of money for pushing itty-bitty pieces of wood around a board. Gotcha. Clearly I am in the wrong line of business."

Parker giggled, and Sophie felt the beginnings of a plan coming together, solidifying in her mind as she spoke.

"Mind if I handle this one?" 

Nate nodded magnanimously - a peace offering after all the French jokes, she supposed - and she flashed him a grateful smile.

"Okay, this is how we're going to do it."

It was fairly simple as plans go: five roles, five team members, one tournament. It needed four people grifting, and it didn't involve nearly enough breaking and entering for Parker's tastes, but the basic idea was pretty simple.

Sophie would be Jamison's contact, a former pro turned coach. She'd tell him all about her new protégé, a future grandmaster for sure. 

Eliot would play the rising star, a scrappy underdog with a backstory slightly too carefully calculated to win Jamison over. Coached over the comms by Hardison, Eliot would get all the way to the final, which he would win easily.

Unfortunately, by this point Jamison would already have become suspicious and bet on Eliot's opponent - and it would be Parker taking that bet, and subsequently Jamison's money.

All that left was the runner-up. Somebody who could storm in, talk the talk and, coached by Hardison, walk the walk, until he reached the final, where all that pride would set him up for one very steep fall. For the story to be perfect, he should be arrogant, smug, utterly convinced of his own skill as a chessmaster. In short -

"Yes, yes, yes, I'm sure we can all see where this is going."

Nate cut her off, exasperated, and Sophie raised an expectant eyebrow. He sighed, more reluctantly than she might have expected, but shrugged.

"Sure. We can run with it."

And they did. Parker stole them a betting company. Hardison faked them some credentials, and snuck their new Elo ratings into the World Chess Federation database. And Sophie drilled Nate and Eliot on their intense thinking faces. Everything seemed to be ready. Only -

"You're sure you're okay with this?"

It must have been the fourth or fifth time that day she'd caught Nate staring into the middle distance. If she didn't know better, she'd have said he looked worried.

The mastermind blinked, and the look was gone, replaced with a carefully neutral smile.

"Of course. You've got this, Soph."

There was still something amiss, but before she could press the matter, Nate shook his head.

"Seriously, it's not relevant. I'll tell you when we're done, okay?"

That wasn't entirely reassuring, but it was something, she supposed, and resolved to forget about it. She needed her attention on the job, after all.

And the attention paid dividends. Before long, the tournament was in full swing, Jamison was eating out of the palm of her hand, and rumours were already circulating about a potential upset in the final - some newcomer, straight out of rural Texas, totally unknown until this year. 

Sophie had to stifle a grin when she heard, and even more so when Jamison came to her about it, asking if _that_ was the guy she was coaching. She could almost see the dots connecting in the CEO's brain. Country kid, a dead-end day job, by far the smartest person in his whole podunk town, and _desperate_ for a break. An eerily familiar story. 

Eliot was enjoying the attention, Sophie could tell. She suspected Hardison was relishing the challenge too - if he hadn't played chess competitively at some point in his life, she'd eat her hypothetical hat - and Parker was happy in any role that let her handle large amounts of cash all day.

The only one who didn't seem to be enjoying the con was Nate. Sure, he hid it well beneath the bluster that his role required. But every time he sat down at that table, just for a second, there was a look of unease, verging on nausea.

Sophie wondered whether or not to pull him aside for a word, but the opportunity never presented itself. Plus, he did say he'd tell her later. It didn't stop her speculating, of course - trying to work out people's secrets was practically second nature to her now. But she wouldn't ask him outright.

It was only in the final that she figured it out. And to be fair, everyone else figured it out then too, more or less. But Sophie was a step ahead of them all.

Here's how it went down.

Nate and Eliot reached the final, with Nate comfortably ahead on points, just like they had planned.

Jamison turned on Sophie, and stormed off to put his money on Nate, just like they had planned.

The game began, and Eliot quickly gained the upper hand, just like they had planned. 

Then, as it all seemed to be drawing to a close, the crew were suddenly deafened by a painfully-loud burst of static, which was decidedly _not_ part of the plan.

Once the ringing in her ears died down, Sophie's attention was immediately on Nate and Eliot. Did anyone notice them reacting to the sudden noise? They both seemed to have frozen in position, matching looks of intense concentration masking anything else. She suppressed a sigh of relief. _Good work._

She could hear Hardison swearing faintly in her ear, which meant he could probably hear her too. 

"Hardison?" she murmured, turning away from the match for a second, "What just happened?"

A moment, then the hacker's voice, frustrated.

"I don't know, something to do with the venue's PA system. I've lost communication with them both. I've still got you, though. Parker?"

"Yup, I'm online," she chipped in. "You want play stopped until you can fix things? Because I can arrange that."

The glee in Parker's voice as she suggested it could mean anything from "I've caught a skunk and I'm going to release it" to "I've got a knife and I'm feeling stabby." 

Sounding just as alarmed as Sophie felt, Hardison interrupted.

"That shouldn't be necessary. It's the final move. Whatever Nate does now should end the game, one way or another. He just has to lose. He can handle that on his own, right?"

That was directed at Sophie. She glanced at Nate. He looked sick again. Part of the act this time, the face of an overconfident man finally losing? Or something else? For the life of her, Sophie couldn't tell.

"I think so," she murmured, more confidently than she felt. 

A couple of minutes passed and Sophie found herself waiting with bated breath.

"Hardison," Parker piped up, after thirty more unbearable seconds, "How many options does Nate have right now?"

She sounded concerned, and Sophie didn't blame her.

"To lose?" Hardison replied, sounding grim. "Pretty much anything he does will lose him the game. There are two moves he can make and still win, and literally anything else will give it to Eliot."

Another pause, and then Hardison confirmed the suspicion that had slowly wormed its way into Sophie's gut.

"He should have lost already."

_He should have lost already._

Meaning that, for whatever reason, Nate was playing to win.

For a horrible moment, Sophie wondered if she'd miscalculated, given him a character that was just that little bit too close to his true nature. The chessmaster supreme, hubris incarnate. Of course he couldn't bear to lose, he was Nathan Ford.

The second she thought it, she recoiled from the thought, ashamed. Nate would never run a risk like that, not with the team involved, not with the job on the line. He knew when to fold, knew not to screw them all over like that. 

Plus, the more cynical part of her brain added, he had to know that losing, in this particular case, was just another way to win. And she was right. Nathan Ford always had to win.

So why was he still playing? 

Because she knew that look. Nate looked uneasy - and perhaps he was uneasy - but he was also frantically, desperately looking for a way out, a solution, a _win_.

It didn't make sense, couldn't possibly make sense, it was like -

And then the penny dropped. 

She could have laughed, only she knew it would draw unwelcome attention in the now-silent room. 

_Be a professional, Sophie._

She bit her lip, and sat patiently.

Then, after a few more agonising seconds, an intake of breath from the spectators. Nate was about to make his move.

She could see him take a steadying breath as he reached out.

_Come on, come on, come on, just play a losing move. You can do it._

He exhaled, with a look of queasy resignation.

And then he moved his bishop _forward_ two squares.

The room exploded, deafeningly loud after the silence of the match, and suddenly everyone was on their feet, moving, talking, confused.

Across the room, she could see Jamison, his face deathly pale - rage or shock, Sophie couldn't tell - and for a second, he looked her straight in the eye. She shrugged, gesturing vaguely towards Eliot, every bit the proud coach, making moves to go and congratulate him.

"Nice job keeping it together," she breathed, hugging him for the cameras.

"Somebody had to," Eliot grumbled, before they were pulling him aside to give him his trophy.

Sophie looked round for Nate, but the mastermind had already skulked off.

Jamison, she was pleased to see, had stormed over to the betting desk. He looked like he was losing an argument with the clerk, who had suddenly found himself alone at the booth, and unable to find Jamison's money. A flash of blonde hair up in the gallery above told Sophie all she needed to know on that particular front.

Satisfied, she turned to leave. Eliot would be another half hour or so, but the rest of them should probably make themselves scarce. 

As she approached Lucille, she could already hear the argument inside.

"You could have done _anything_ , and you did that! After all the work I put in! It's insulting, man! Insulting!"

"You needed me to lose, I lost. I fail to see the problem."

She could just imagine the look on Nate's face, all defensive.

"Seriously? You fail to ... look, I needed you to lose, Nate, but I wanted you to lose with _style!_ I had it all set up - you would have been a tragedy, Satan falling from grace-"

"Paradise Lost," Sophie interrupted, sliding the door open. "A bit classier than your usual references, I have to say."

"Yeah, well my follow-up was gonna be Megatron from Transformers," the hacker sulked.

Sophie rolled her eyes.

"He lost, Hardison, and our mark went down, hard. Isn't that what matters?"

Nate shot her a grateful look as Hardison pouted in mock-betrayal, turning back to the equipment he was packing up with a huff.

"I'm just saying, you could have been Anakin Skywalker, turning to the dark side! We could have gotten three _deeply_ flawed movies about your pride laying you low! But no, _somebody_ decided to throw my set-up all away on a dumb-ass stunt."

There was no real weight behind the accusation, so Sophie let it be, and the two of them carried on bickering until Parker came bounding in, Eliot in tow.

"I thought I'd wait until Eliot was out," she shrugged by way of explanation. "Congratulate him on winning."

Hardison rolled his eyes.

"You know that was all my work, right?" 

Laughing, Parker slung an arm round the hacker's neck, going for a distinctly condescending pat on the shoulder.

"Of course, Hardison, of course."

And then Hardison was spluttering in Parker's general direction, Nate was saying something to Eliot that Sophie didn't quite catch, and they were all off home, thousands of dollars richer, and basking in the feeling of a job well done.

Just before they called their client, Sophie managed to catch Nate, pulling him aside while the others weren't looking.

He looked at her, and for a second she didn't know where to start.

"Would you have told me, when it was all over?" she asked, finally.

Nate looked down at his feet.

"Would I have told you what?" he asked, but his heart wasn't in it.

Sophie shook her head.

"That you don't know how to play chess, Nate."

He was quiet for a long while. When he finally spoke, it was with an uncharacteristic uncertainty.

"I don't know. Maybe. Or maybe not. You know me, Soph." 

He gestured at himself ruefully, and Sophie sighed.

"Well, you sure picked your moment. Put on quite the show."

Nate chuckled.

"I learnt from the best."

He hesitated for a second, and Sophie moved away from him slightly, making it clear that he could go, if he wanted. He didn't owe her an explanation.

His lips quirked upwards at the gesture, but he didn't leave. Instead, they both stood there for a moment before Nate finally spoke.

"My father always wanted me to play chess. Got me a set for my eighth birthday. He was..." Nate trailed off with a grimace. "Well, you know my dad. Not always the most patient teacher."

Sophie felt her insides twist in sympathy. 

"Anyhow, long story short, I don't know if chess just never clicked, or if I deliberately forgot all the rules after the fact just to spite him," Nate shrugged. "Either way, I haven't played since I was ten, and I don't intend to start now."

His voice had turned defiant somewhere in that last sentence, with an almost petulant note to it. For a second, Sophie had a vision of a ten-year old Nate, small and chubby-cheeked, but every bit his usual curmudgeonly self. 

Nate must have mistaken her amusement for disbelief.

"I promise, I get by fine. Picked up just enough to make all the right metaphors. You play the white knight, try to get a checkmate. You sacrifice your pawns if necessary, but only to protect your king. And if you can't do that..."

He trailed off for a second, looking askance at Sophie.

"If you can't do that, there's always the queen. She's got your back."

It was as close as he'd come to a thank you, or an apology, and Sophie accepted it graciously, with just the merest tilt of her head.

"Also, I think there are touchdowns involved?" the mastermind joked, and the moment was over. "Or possibly field goals? The terminology confuses me..."

It wasn't that funny, but Sophie laughed all the same, answering the unspoken question beneath the joke.

_Yeah. We're good. You may not play chess, but I think you got everything important._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask, yes, I wrote this before I reached the episode in the show where they actually do infiltrate a chess tournament - I guess it's just too tempting a premise to pass up? Either way, I'm just gonna imagine that this chapter is set sometime before then ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ (also, this officially marks the point where I get too invested in thinking up semi-plausible cons)


	3. Chapter 3

Not every job could go as smoothly as the chess one, Nate was willing to concede as he lay winded at the bottom of a small cliff, but this was getting ridiculous.

"Nate! Nate?! What just happened?"

And that would be Hardison, so at least his earbud wasn't broken. 

"Nate, talk to me, man. Everything okay?"

He tried to catch his breath enough to respond, and hey, would you look at that - his earbud wasn't broken, but his ribs were. Or bruised, maybe. Either way, not fun.

"Nate?!"

He groaned.

"Hd'sn?"

A whoop from the other end of the comms.

"He's alive! He's alive guys, we're good!" Then, presumably just to Nate, "For real, though, _are_ we good?"

He closed his eyes and focussed on breathing. It was coming a little easier now.

"Yeah," he managed, after a while. "Just... gimme a couple minutes... winded."

"Sure thing, brah."

Nate let his head fall back against the forest floor.

The job had started out promisingly, that was the worst thing. Lyramax was exactly the sort of company they'd usually take down in their sleep; there was ample proof that their fancy new Crowd Dispersal System was causing permanent blindness in some test subjects, and the cover story about an "underlying macular condition" was fooling precisely no-one. It was all built on bribery, pure and simple, coupled with the state governor's desire for police officers to look like Rambo. Lazy, and easy to bring toppling down.

His ribs twinged again. Right. Yes. Too soon to be thinking about "toppling down". Got it.

It was just so _stupid_. He'd been trying to get into the back of the defence contractor's HQ via an old hiking trail that looked like it cut across their land. He'd been banking on it being so old they'd forgotten it existed - but no such luck. Blocked off, with security cameras. The neighbor's farm, though...

One scramble, two unfriendly dogs and a steep fall later, Nate was seriously regretting that decision.

A few more seconds passed before Hardison was back.

"Guys, what's our exit strategy?"

Right. Because without Nate sneaking in the back, the chances of any of the rest of them strolling out the front at the end of the job just decreased dramatically. 

There was a pause before anybody said anything, longer than Nate liked.

"Are you sure Nate's out of action?"

Parker sounded put out.

"He's got busted ribs. He's out," Eliot interjected. And then, more defensively, "What? It's a very distinctive wheeze."

The mastermind felt himself bristle at that, because he was _not_ wheezing. He was just breathing more... interestingly than usual.

"You're wheezing, Nate."

And there was Sophie, to complete the set. Had he said that last bit out loud? 

"Yup," Hardison chimed in, more concerned than before. "Nate, any chance you might also be concussed?"

That ... was not unlikely, now he thought about it.

The hacker sighed.

"Okay, can you get your ass back to Lucille, or does one of us need to go find you?"

Nate shifted slightly and took stock. Head? Fuzzy, but functioning. Breathing? Painful, but better than a minute ago. Rest of him? More or less in one piece.

"No need," he shook his head. "I can handle it."

The silence that followed spoke volumes. It was almost insulting, really. He rolled his eyes, and braced himself to stand up.

_This'll show them._

It was at this point that time got a little hazy for Nate. One minute, he was still lying on the ground, and then suddenly ten minutes had passed and he was standing, as if by a miracle, at the top of the cliff. There had been some shouting, he seemed to remember, and possibly some stumbling, and he had - were those _leaves_ in his hair?

"Yeah, we'll have you back to your regular beautiful self right after - wait, Parker, he's doubling back, you need to get out!"

_What?_

But Hardison was shushing him.

Sounds were coming through the comms, rapid and confusing. 

Finally a sigh from Hardison.

"Cool, just hang tight there until the others are out out, okay? Then we can work on it."

An affirmative noise from Parker, but muffled, as if she were hiding from somebody. And Eliot and Sophie were talking to someone? It sounded civil, at least. Nate frowned.

"I'm sorry, what's happening right now?"

An exasperated noise from Hardison as Sophie and Eliot's conversation continued.

"You went all radio silence for a bit there, so we went ahead and worked out a plan."

Nate's frown deepened.

"No! Hey! No, don't make that face!"

Wait, how did-

"You're predictable, Nate. You hate any plan you didn't come up with. But this one checks out. Kept it simple, called Sophie about a "family emergency". Figured it'd give her and Eliot an excuse to ditch, but then Lucas panicked, thought we were pulling out and agreed to make the transfer, just like that. So we get them out _and_ we get the money, win-win."

That ... did actually sound solid. Sophie and Eliot had an out. They had the money. Which only left-

"Parker."

He could almost see Hardison wince.

"Yeah, I'm on it. Gonna get into their security, clear her a separate path out. I just need some... ah, there we go!"

Then there was some technobabble, and Nate zoned out again, just for a few minutes. When he came back to reality, he could see Lucille across the parking lot, and now Eliot was talking?

"- feel wrong leaving them with the CDS."

Indignant noises from Hardison.

"Look, you find a way of taking it as you go, be my guest!"

A pause.

"No? That's what I thought. Look, I can maybe hack it later, make it inoperable, leak blueprints for a jammer, I don't know. Just you and Sophie get going, and I'll see you in a- oh, hey, Parker, you're good for another corridor!"

Silence for a second or two, and then Eliot grumbled in a discontented sort of way.

"I don't like it, especially if they've managed to boost the range."

A sigh from Hardison.

"Me neither. Although we still don't have proof that they actually..."

The hacker trailed off, and Nate felt a stab of unease.

"Hardison? Everything alright?"

Silence, for a few more seconds.

Then the hacker spoke, his voice suddenly trembling.

"Yeah, scratch that. They boosted the range."

Which meant that-

Shit. 

_Shit_.

"Hardison, have you been made?"

Another few agonizing seconds, before the hacker answered.

"I... I don't think so. I ... I think I just picked a parking spot that happened to be in range. Explains why nobody else was parked up here."

Okay, not as bad as he'd feared. 

"You're sure it's the CDS?"

"Yeah, it started out milder, but now I've got 20% vision max. Everything in the middle of my field of vision is like nuh-uh, brah."

Nate's brain kicked into overdrive, concussion be damned.

"Okay. Eliot, Sophie, you're leaving on foot, do _not_ go back to the van. Hardison, can you see enough to drive out of range?"

A frustrated noise over the comms answered that one.

"Okay, can you ditch and just _walk_ out of range?"

A pause, and Nate knew what Hardison would say before he said it.

"No can do. Parker's still in there, and she's relying on me. I can't just-"

"I can do this," the thief interrupted in a sharp whisper, her concern evident, "Just get yourself out. I'll be fine. I'm- "

She cut herself off.

"Parker? We good?"

Silence, for a couple of heart-stopping seconds.

"Guard," she finally managed to squeak out, and Nate thought he heard Eliot swear on the other end.

"Okay, okay, what if- "

But Hardison cut him off.

"It's okay. I got this. It'll take ten minutes tops, right? That's not enough time to cause permanent damage. If I can just..."

The hacker trailed off, and Nate could hear something being knocked over from inside Lucille.

"Ah, crap. Crap, crap, crap. Crap on a cracker."

Eliot growled.

"Hardison, so help me God- "

"It's okay, it's fine. I think I knocked my laptop somewhere."

More fumbling noises.

"Okay, there we go! Got it!"

Nate had a thought.

"Hardison, can't you shut the CDS down first, then get Parker out?" 

The hacker made an irritated noise.

"No time. Parker first. Dystopian blindness beam later. I just need to figure out how to do it."

Nate frowned.

"Can't you just do what you normally would? It's not like you look at the screen much anyway."

A pause.

"Nuh-uh, not gonna work."

Eliot growled.

"Why the hell not?"

"Well I can't actually see where the guards are in the building, for one! I can hack the cameras, sure. But if a guard comes along..."

"The floor's tiled," Parker whispered, and Nate blinked. How was that relevant?

"Means she can hear any guards coming a mile away," Eliot answered. "Hardison, just take all the cameras offline and let's go!"

"Yeah, that's no good either" the hacker admitted.

"Why not?" 

"It just isn't, okay? Just... let me think for a moment."

Another pause, heavy and awkward.

"Hardison?" Nate tried. "We good?"

Another few seconds' silence, before the hacker responded.

"I think so. Just lemme..." Nate could hear Hardison fiddling with something, "Okay, VANESSA? You there? User: Hardison. My voice is my password. Verify me. "

A bleeping sound, and then -

"Hey, Hardison! What's up?"

Nate frowned at the new voice on the comms, chipper and weirdly familiar. Hardison didn't seem phased, though. In fact, he almost sounded proud.

"Guys, meet VANESSA. Programmed her myself. Short for Voice-Activated- "

"Yeah, yeah," Eliot interrupted, "We get it. Hacker Alexa. Now get Parker out."

Hardison spluttered indignantly, clearly gearing up to give Eliot a piece of his mind, but then Parker hissed something and suddenly he was back on task, rattling off a string of technical-sounding commands at his AI, interspersed with directions for Parker.

Nate let himself zone out again, focussing on the walk over to the road, where Eliot and Sophie would be waiting. He was almost there, when Hardison swore.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, Parker's just about out. She only has to get down from the roof and she'll be heading your way."

"I get to jump off a roof, Nate!" Parker chipped in gleefully.

Nate felt a weight lift from his shoulders. But then - 

"What's the issue?"

A pause.

"I figured out how to fry the CDS. I could do it right now. But I need to _physically type the command_. VANESSA's good, but there are some things she just can't do."

A few seconds passed before Sophie spoke.

"Okay, what's the problem?"

Hardison snorted.

"Did I not speak clearly? I have to physically type the command."

Nate frowned.

"Can't you just... do that?"

Another pause, and then -

"No."

The hacker sounded put out. Sulky, almost. It made no sense, unless -

"You can't touch type."

He could almost see Hardison rolling his eyes.

"No, I can't _touch type._ "

Nate thought he could hear Eliot laughing, somewhere. Hardison huffed.

"Can it, Mr. Accidentally-Deleted-Windows-Printing-A-Recipe. You do not get to criticise my tech skills."

"That was one time," Eliot shot back, defensive, and Nate made a mental note to ask about that, but more importantly -

"Wait, you, of all people, can't touch type? I had to learn to do it on a _typewriter_ back in the day!"

Hardison snorted.

"You think that's a boast, man, but that's just sad. You're old, Nate."

And okay, he probably deserved that, but really -

"Hardison, run your fingers over the keyboard," Sophie said suddenly, and Nate heard the hacker doing so. "Can you feel two little bumps?"

A second or two and Hardison hummed affirmatively.

"Okay," Sophie smiled, "That's F, on the left, and J, on the right."

Hardison hummed again.

"Okay, now what?"

A pause, before Sophie answered.

"I don't know. I just though it might help."

Another pause.

"It might, actually. VANESSA?"

"Yes, Hardison?"

"You got visuals on my hands?"

A couple seconds, and then -

"Yup. What now?"

"Okay, then, just as a test, can you tell me what fingers I need to move to type my name?"

A pause again, before -

"Right index to the left. Right pinkie there. Left index up. Left middle finger there. Right middle finger up. Left ring finger there. Right ring finger up. Right index down. And that's your name."

Nate still couldn't put his finger on who VANESSA reminded him of, but he was certain he recognized the voice. 

"Not the time, Nate," Hardison cut across his thoughts, sounding mildly alarmed. Then Hardison was reading code out loud, with VANESSA translating it into finger directions.

Nate was at the road now, and he could see the other two. He tried to catch their attention by waving, then swore as his ribs protested. It did the trick, though, and Eliot hurried over to help him. 

"You've got half a tree in your hair," the hitter muttered testily, once they'd gotten back to Sophie, and damnit, Nate knew he should have sorted that out. He was just trying to find a witty comeback when -

"Guys, where are you? I'm at the road."

He could see the tension leave Eliot's shoulders as Parker reported in. Sophie caught his eye with a tiny, reassuring smile.

"We're a bit further down, can you - "

"Found you!" the thief whooped, and Nate almost fell over in shock as Parker dropped down from the trees above them, landing in a way that Nate could have sworn was impossible without breaking all of your limbs, before springing to her feet with a wide grin.

"Thought I'd go through the trees," she explained, entirely unnecessarily. "Haven't done that in a while."

Nate nodded vaguely, before Hardison interrupted, with a triumphant sort of sound.

"And I'm in! Who da man?"

"You da man," VANESSA chipped in obediently.

"That's right, girl," Hardison gloated, and something clicked for Nate. 

"Hardison, when were you going to tell us - "

But Eliot was shushing him, with an impatient scowl.

"Just let him turn the psycho blindness ray off, man."

Hardison laughed over the comms. "VANESSA, you get that? Shut it down, before Eliot gives himself a stress ulcer."

"On it."

And sure enough, a few seconds later -

"It's off. I'm not back to full vision, but I can feel that something's different, so I guess that's good?"

Nate sighed in relief.

"Can you see anything at all?" Parker interrupted.

"Nope, and I won't for at least half an hour. You guys good to come back, now Lucille isn't in a literal blind spot?"

And Eliot grumbled about it, because of course he did, but they all got back to the van in one piece, and before long, they were halfway home. 

It was a remarkably low-key end to the con, Nate thought, looking round at them all. Eliot was at the wheel, Sophie was watching the road, and Hardison and Parker were in the back talking about lasers on planes? Tasers and pain? Lazy-ass dames? The concussion was making his ears do funny things. 

Idly, he found himself listening in. Hardison was telling a story, he realized. An outlandish story at that. There _were_ lasers involved. Drones too. And a tiger, apparently.

"So that is why I don't touch type," Hardison concluded with a flourish. Nate could tell, even concussed, that Parker wasn't buying it, but she made a show of agreeing with the hacker. She was also shining a tiny flashlight in Hardison's face, Nate noticed.

He turned back round to find Sophie looking at him. She reached over towards Nate and - 

"Eliot was right. You had a leaf," she shrugged. She smoothed his hair down again and turned back to the road, until-

"You do know I've been able to see that for at least ten minutes now, right?"

The clicking sound that followed suggested that Parker had taken that as an invitation to start flashing the light on and off at Hardison. Nate smiled. Their hacker would be fine, it seemed.

Of course that meant that he was fair game again. 

Nate cleared his throat innocently.

"You know, Hardison, I couldn't help but notice something when you had VANESSA running. The voice seemed... familiar."

Hardison's look of panic was quite something to behold.

"I... uh, no way... that's not... I mean... well, you see, I just..."

"No, no," Nate shook his head magnanimously, "It's fine. I'm sure you had a good reason for giving it Parker's voice."

"No, I didn't... I mean, I never meant to...it was meant be temporary, I swear! I just... I needed a good selection of phonemes, and Parker's on the comms a lot, and I figured I'd use it until I could synthesize something better!"

"Well if that was the case, why wouldn't you use my voice?" Sophie interrupted airily. "I do the most talking of all of us, after all. Or do you not like the British accent? Because if so, that's just discriminatory."

Hardison spluttered. "It's not that, I was just... I didn't... It's just - "

"Sexist, is what it is," Eliot chipped in, with a smirk. "You could have put my voice on it, or Nate's, or your own, but no, the handy-dandy robot assistant _has_ to be a woman."

"It's kind of creepy, too, when you think about it," Sophie added, with a matching smirk. "Don't you think, Parker? Hardison stole your voice!"

Hardison looked mortified as Parker got in on the act, pointing at her mouth in mock confusion, as if she couldn't speak now.

"No, hey, I didn't steal your voice like _that_ \- "

"Oh, so you admit you stole it, then," Eliot interrupted.

"No! Well... sort of? I mean - hey! Parker, stop that! You know I can see that, right?"

Nate smiled and turned to look out the window again, content just to listen to his team bicker.

 _Hardison did good today_ , he thought before zoning out. And then, just before he drifted off completely, _what the hell does VANESSA even stand for, anyway?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know what VANESSA stands for. No, I won't tell you ^-^


	4. Chapter 4

"So let me get this right," Hardison repeated, "We jumped off a yacht for _nothing_."

Nate shrugged, looking not nearly sheepish enough, if you asked Hardison.

"They guy was shooting at you. And you were the one who suggested swimming in the first place, I seem to remember."

"Yeah, as a _last ditch option_. And that was before I knew you'd commandeered a speedboat! You could've come and picked us up and then my tech wouldn't be fried! Because I don't know if you realize, Nate, but that's what _happens_ when you get sea water in everything!"

"At least you've still got your tech," Eliot interjected sulkily. "That knife saved my life on multiple occasions, and now it's lying at the bottom of the Atlantic." The hitter wrinkled his brow in disgust, like he'd just realized something. "It's probably _rusting_ down there."

Nate looked like he was about to argue and Sophie sighed.

"What's done is done, no point complaining. Do you have _anything_ dry?"

Hardison rolled his eyes.

"No, I do not, because _somebody_ told me to pack light. "We'll be done in a weekend," he said, "No need for a case!" Everything I had was in that backpack."

"Eliot?"

The hitter scowled.

"Hung my jacket up before we left so it wouldn't crease, but the shirt's a goner. Pants too."

Sophie raised a hopeful eyebrow at Parker, who shook her head.

"Only brought one change of clothes in the first place. Not like you need multiple outfits for two days."

Sophie looked aghast, but before she could say anything, Nate cut in.

"Parker, is your gear still good? No water damage?"

The thief nodded enthusiastically.

"Good," Nate nodded, and turned on his heel as if to leave.

"Uh, Nate?" Hardison ventured. "Mind telling us what you're doing?"

The mastermind looked at him with a wry smile.

"Well, if Parker's gear's still good, then we still have a casino to scam in, oh, maybe two hours? Since they don't generally let people in dripping wet and covered in sand, I'm guessing you three'll need a change of clothes. But don't worry," he smirked before heading out the door, "I'll be sure to grab you something stylish."

Hardison wrinkled his nose. Nate buying them clothes. Just what he'd always wanted. Eliot looked equally enthused.

"Hey," Parker shrugged, "At least it's gotta be something that'll blend in at a casino. How bad could it be?" 

To be fair, it wasn't that bad, in the end. Sure, the shirt was a _fascinating_ shade of yellow, and the four-leaf clover cufflinks were a little too on the nose if you asked Hardison, but somehow it just about worked. 

Eliot seemed grudgingly satisfied with his bodyguard get-up too, although he wasn't sure about the boots.

"A genuine bodyguard would have something heavier. A thicker sole. It's - "

" - a very distinctive tread, yes, we get the idea," Nate shot Eliot an exasperated look. "Look, it was the best I could manage with the time I had. Be glad I found you a proper bodyguard holster for your fake bodyguard gun."

Eliot grunted in what Hardison could only assume was reluctant gratitude.

"And Parker?" Nate added, "Since nobody's gonna see you, I figured I'd just grab you some basics. All black, hat and gloves, grippy shoes. That okay?"

The thief shot him a thumbs up.

"Works for me!"

He tossed them over to her, and then everything was go, and before Hardison knew it, he was stood at a blackjack table, a glass of very expensive champagne in his hand, and their mark - a high-ranking, horribly corrupt diplomat - on his arm, hanging onto his every word.

 _I'm James Bond_ , he realized, with no small amount of glee. _I jump off yachts, I seduce diplomats, and I look damn good doing it._ He wondered briefly if he ought to have asked for a martini, then caught Eliot glaring at him from across the room. _Right. Job. Yup._

It would be easier to take things seriously, he thought, if these people weren't so ridiculously cavalier with their considerable wealth. Already he figured he'd probably seen a small country's GDP's worth of money change hands and he'd only been playing for ten minutes. Much longer, he suspected, and he'd start to place bets in the hundreds of thousands himself, just to match them.

Before that could happen, though, the shock of an elbow digging into his side alerted him to Sophie's presence. He reached out a hand to steady her, carefully pocketing the keycard she handed him as she mumbled an apology, which he accepted with a bland smile.

He gave it another half hour before making his move, casually whispering something in their mark's ear about a second room, members only, very exclusive. He raised a suggestive eyebrow, flashing their mark his newly-acquired membership card, and for a second, he could hear Sophie coaching him through it. _You want to be charming, but not overeager, interested, but not desperate._

It worked a treat, and soon they'd bought into an obscenely high-stakes game of poker. Illegal, of course, and just the sort of thing their mark wouldn't want to be implicated in. It would be a real pity, Hardson thought, if an undercover journalist were to _somehow_ get wind of it. Even worse if the money that their diplomat was playing with _somehow_ turned out to be misappropriated diplomatic funds, laundered through that very casino. It could be career-ending, he thought, fighting the urge to smirk, if, on top of all that, documents linking their diplomat to said money laundering were _somehow_ found in the casino's main safe.

Just for a second, he glanced round. The journalist was in place, which meant Nate's part of the con had come off fine. He'd seen Sophie earlier, and Eliot was hovering at the edge of the room with that satisfied look he got after beating up somebody who _really_ deserved it, which only left Parker. 

Parker, who really ought to have given the signal by now.

A few minutes passed, and Hardison decided that enough was enough. 

"Play for me for a second, and I'll go get us something to drink," he lied smoothly, and strode off to find their thief, ignoring the exasperated look Eliot was shooting him.

Back on the main floor it was only a matter of time before a security guard walked by, close enough that Hardison could fake a drunken stumble and swipe his ID card.

"Sorry, sorry, my bad," he stammered, lurching off towards the main exit as the guard looked on, unimpressed but not suspicious.

From there, it was just a question of doubling back and slipping through a door marked "Staff Only", then navigating the maze of increasingly narrow service corridors that should lead him to -

"Parker?"

The thief's eyes flicked down to Hardison from where she was hanging, bat-like, from the ceiling. She looked irritated, Hardison noted, surprised.

They stayed like that for a few seconds more, Hardison blinking up at Parker, Parker frowning down at him while hanging onto the ceiling by - wait, was she hanging by one foot?

"Everything okay?" Hardison ventured, when it became clear that the thief wasn't going to talk.

Parker shrugged.

"Everything's fine. Why wouldn't it be?"

Hardison looked up at Parker and raised his eyebrows.

"No reason, no reason. I'm just noticing a lot of... upside-down-ness going on right now."

At that, Parker rolled her eyes and did a flippy sort of thing that Hardison's brain didn't even have time to process properly. Now she was still clinging to the ceiling, but she was the right way up, at least.

"Better?"

Hardison rolled his eyes.

"Not what I meant, and you know it. We were -"

The he stopped short, because the change of position meant that Parker's feet were now dangling in his face - Parker's _bare_ feet.

"Parker, is there a reason you aren't wearing shoes?"

The thief looked down at him for a moment.

"Lost them," she said, finally.

And that raised more questions than it answered, but before Hardison could say anything, Parker continued.

"I don't wanna leave footprints, so I'm trying to get to the main floor without touching the ground. If I can do that, I can steal somebody's shoes and then I can finish the job. Easy as pie."

Hardison narrowed his eyes.

"That why you're stuck down here in the service corridors, and not, oh, I don't know, done and busy signalling us?"

The thief pulled a face, but said nothing. Instead, she shifted slightly, swinging back gently and then-

"What the hell, Parker?'

She grinned down at him from her new spot, a few yards further down the corridor.

"Told you I was fine," she smirked, and then she was off again, Spider-Manning her way down the corridor with a grace Hardison wouldn't have believed possible, were he not seeing it with his own two eyes.

He hurried to catch up.

"Parker! Hey! Parker, wait up!"

She froze mid-swing.

"Not that I'm not digging the whole "the floor is lava" vibe you've got going on,"  
Hardison continued, "but don't you think there's a quicker way to do this?"

She looked down at him, obviously confused. Hardison gestured meaningfully at himself and then at the empty corridor they were in.

"There's nobody around. Come down, and I'll give you a piggyback."

Parker seemed to consider this for a moment. Then she grinned, a full, delighted grin that did something weird to Hardison's stomach, and let herself deftly down from the ceiling, latching firmly onto his back.

"Hey, hey, hey," he grumbled half-heartedly, "give a guy a little warning next time!"

But Parker just giggled and clung on tighter, digging her heels into his sides as if to spur him on.

"Giddy up, Hardison!"

He sighed as he set off down the corridor.

"Don't be getting used to this kind of treatment" he warned, "Because I am not your horse. That can be Eliot's job. He's already a grumpy old mule, he should be good at it."

And now Parker was giggling again, which made it much harder to keep the thief squarely on his back. It was worth it though, Hardison thought, somewhere in the back of his mind.

Just before they reached the main floor, he felt Parker shift. He craned his neck back, only to see the thief... unscrewing a vent on the wall?

She smiled and handed him the grating and then, as quickly as she'd swung down onto his back, she was gone, clambering across into the vent and vanishing.

He waited a few seconds before replacing the grating. Then he waited a few seconds more. Almost a minute had passed, and Hardison was beginning to wonder if their mark was missing him, when a noise made him jump. He spun round, half expecting a guard, only to see -

"Parker? You're back?"

The thief grinned, and he wondered where she'd even emerged from.

"I work fast," she shrugged. "Also, people really ought to keep a closer eye on their shoes if they're gonna go standing next to air vents. Like candy from a baby."

She pointed happily down at her feet, which were now clad in an expensive-looking pair of silver stilettos. 

_Expensive-looking_ , Hardison thought, _and utterly impractical for thievery._

"Parker, are you sure those shoes- "

She cut him off with an impatient gesture.

"As long as you're comfortable," Hardison shrugged, and Parker nodded, before walking - without even a wobble, Hardison noted, somewhat mollified - towards the window. A few seconds later, she was outside said window, adjusting her harness. She looked at Hardison enquiringly.

"Wanna come with? The harness'll hold two."

Hardison shook his head, visions of falling off the casino roof flashing before his eyes.

From outside, Parker made a _suit yourself_ gesture, and then she was hauling herself up the side of the building, stiletto heels and all. Hardison waited until she was out of sight, before returning to the main floor at a leisurely pace, making sure to swipe some champagne from a passing waiter as he did so.

He shot Eliot a reassuring look as he walked back in, flashing his ID at the door before turning back to the mark. He was just trying to think up a suitable excuse for how long he'd been away, when the fire alarm began to blare. _Just in time. Nice._

From there, it was easy enough to lose the mark and slip off into the night. He looked around and spotted the team a short way off. Parker, perched on a wall was looking particularly pleased with herself. The stilettos were gone, Hardison noticed. Clearly she'd found her original shoes again.

The thief must have caught him looking, because as he approached she shook her head slightly. Hardison frowned, but didn't say anything. None of his business, he supposed. She shot him a grateful look, and once the others had spotted him they set off home, Eliot bitching about how much he hated pulling jobs without comms.

"You should try _running_ a job without comms," Nate retorted. "That's even worse, I'll tell you that for free."

Hardison shook his head.

"It's your fault our comms got fried, you don't get to have an opinion here."

Nate shrugged.

"I'm just saying, it's unnerving."

"You're unnerving," Eliot grunted back at him, and the resulting argument lasted all the way back to their hotel, where the hitter sloped off, muttering something about getting sand out of his boots. Nate and Sophie headed off to scope out the hotel bar, which just left Hardison and Parker.

"Bar?" Hardison asked. He wasn't feeling it, personally, but if Parker was, he'd make an exception. 

Thankfully, she didn't seem to be in the mood, and shook her head. Then she paused, as if weighing up the options, before speaking, quietly and almost hopefully.

"Room service and a movie?"

An hour later, they were sprawled on Parker's bed, surrounded by snacks and deserts, with one of the Indiana Jones movies running in the background. Hardison wasn't paying much attention - it wasn't like he hadn't seen the film before. Instead, he drifted, allowing the familiar soundtrack lull him into a comfortable, popcorn-filled stupor.

He jerked awake to the feeling of Parker poking him and wondered when he'd fallen asleep. The credits were rolling, he noticed. Also, Parker was trying to tell him something. He blinked a few times and sat up.

" - so I _couldn't_ just do the job like that."

Hardison held up a hand to stop her.

"Parker, I'm still half asleep. You're gonna have to backtrack."

The thief sighed, but started over.

"It was the shoes Nate got me. I didn't lose them. They just weren't right."

Hardison furrowed his brow, not sure he understood.

"Your shoes weren't right?"

Parker nodded.

"As in... they didn't fit?" Hardison probed.

She shook her head.

"They fit fine. They just weren't my stealing things shoes."

_Oh. Okay._

"I... uh, I didn't know you had stealing things shoes."

Parker snorted, then reached over the side of the bed for something.

"These are my stealing things shoes," she said, waving a nondescript pair of black sneakers in Hardison's direction. They were waterlogged, and smelled vaguely of seaweed. The hacker made a face.

"Yeah, they need a wash," Parker shrugged. "But they're good for climbing. Nate's were all... traipsy."

Hardison frowned. As far as he could remember, they were the exact same sneakers, black, plain and grippy.

As if she could read his mind, Parker sighed and reached over the side of the bed again, emerging with another pair of black sneakers, similar to the first pair but not quite the same.

"See," she said, shaking them, "Traipsy. No good."

Sure enough, the laces, which were trailing over the bedspread, were quite long. Glancing back to the first pair of sneakers, Hardison realized that that was the difference between them. The first pair had velcro - no laces at all. He still wasn't sure quite why that was so important to Parker, though. Surely she could suck it up for a job. Tie her laces extra tight and - 

Hardison froze as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Parker, you _do_ know how to tie laces, right?"

It seemed impossible, but the silence from the thief was all the confirmation Hardison could have asked for. 

She looked down at her hands, obviously embarrassed. It felt wrong to see the thief so downcast, and Hardison suddenly wished that he'd phrased his question differently. He was wondering what he could say to make everything better, when Parker spoke up, her voice shaky.

"I never learned when I was a kid. I guess I moved from one home to another a little too often, and somewhere along the way..."

She trailed off with a gesture, but Hardison could fill in the blanks.

_Somewhere along the way, somebody just assumed I knew._

It was depressingly easy to imagine. He could just picture a seven or eight-year-old Parker hiding the fact that she didn't know how to tie her laces, afraid, perhaps, that this new family might not want her if she couldn't even put her own shoes on. She'd have developed tricks to hide it, Hardison thought. And she'd have been good at hiding it. She was _Parker_ , after all. 

He glanced up and caught Parker eyeing him nervously. She seemed tense - twitchy, even. Surprised, Hardison shifted his weight slightly, scooching over to lay a hand gently and deliberately on the thief's shoulder.

"Hey, Parker," he said, "Look at me."

She met his gaze, and he smiled, as reassuringly as he could.

"Nobody's judging you for that, okay? And it certainly doesn't bother us. Hell, far as I'm concerned, it makes you an even better thief. You stole a woman's shoes from off her feet today. It was awesome. _You're_ awesome. You do know that, right?"

And now Parker was looking at him with an awed kind of look, like she didn't know that, or perhaps she just hadn't been expecting him to say it, and Hardison didn't know what to do with that, so he did what he did best and changed the topic to something more lighthearted.

"Anyway, I used to have a middle name, and that got lost between foster homes, too. Shit happens."

It wasn't really relevant, but it was true, and interesting enough to pique Parker's interest, especially when the hacker refused to tell her what his middle name was.

"Is it something embarrassing? Is that why you don't wanna say?"

Hardison shook his head with a grin, and Parker narrowed her eyes.

"Harold."

He snorted.

"Herbert."

Nope.

"Horatio."

He grinned and shook his head.

The names kept coming, and the shoes, Hardison noticed, were quickly forgotten, knocked back down onto the floor.

 _And there they can stay, for all I care,_ he thought, with a sleepy smile. _I got everything that matters right here. Even if she does think I'm a Humphrey._


	5. Chapter 5

Parker had just decided that Hardison would suit the middle name Xavier - because who _didn't_ like names beginning with X? - when Lucille stopped and Nate announced, with a flourish, that they'd arrived.

"Nuh-uh, man, no way." Hardison shook his head, looking blearily up from his computer screen in the back of the van. "There is no way we're in Boston already. Parker, tell me we're not in Boston already."

Parker glanced out of the window. The scenery outside didn't exactly look like Boston. Not unless Boston had gotten a hell of a lot more rural since they'd last been there. Which she wasn't ruling out, but it _did_ seem unlikely. Plus they still had hours to go, by her count.

She turned round, confused. Nate, in the front seat, was smirking, all pleased with himself and she frowned, trying to figure out what _that_ was all about. 

Then she caught Eliot rolling his eyes at her. _Just humor him_ , the look said, and she could do that. She shrugged.

"Nate's got the map, and he says we're in Boston." 

Not a lie, she thought, with some satisfaction. Hardison didn't seem to be buying it, though, and neither was Sophie.

"This," the grifter gestured emphatically at the fields surrounding them, "Is quite clearly _not_ Boston."

Nate grinned.

"I think you'll find it is."

Sophie snorted dismissively.

"Nate, I may not be from this neck of the woods, but even I know that Massachusetts doesn't look like this."

If anything, the mastermind's smirk widened.

"No. No, it doesn't."

"So we're not there yet. Honestly, if you needed a break from driving, you cou-"

"No, we've arrived."

Hardison shook his head.

"Dude, Sophie's right. We lived in Boston for three years. This ain't Boston."

"And that is where you would be wrong." Nate's smirk widened even further. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Boston, Iowa."

Hardison groaned, and Parker wasn't looking, but she just knew Sophie was pouting at Nate from the other side of the van. She didn't blame her, either. _Boston_ Boston was fun. It had chocolate shops and museums to case and all sorts of people being careless with their valuables in public. _Iowa_ Boston had... actually, she wasn't sure what Iowa Boston had. Corn, by the look of things. Plus the occasional tree, but you couldn't steal trees. She sighed.

"Told you they wouldn't like it," Eliot snorted. Parker noticed Nate was still grinning, though.

In fact, if anything, the mastermind looked even more pleased with himself half an hour later, once he'd explained that yes, it was _this_ Boston where they had their next job - a group of local residents, it turned out, had gotten threats after refusing to allow a pipeline to be built over their property.

"There are environmental concerns, straight-up safety concerns, plus they're planning to bulldoze two different Native American sacred sites. There are a thousand reasons why the pipeline should be a no-go - and the federal court seems to agree. Hearing's next Tuesday, and things are _not_ looking good for Bluesky Holdings."

"And yet they're still sending their people to sniff around out here and frighten people," Sophie murmured with a frown. "Why?"

Nate shrugged.

"That's what we're here to find out."

Parker glanced round at the others. Hardison seemed to be onboard, and Sophie looked intrigued despite herself. And for a split second, Eliot looked downright excited, which was nice to see, but also confusing.

"Eliot, are you okay?" she ventured. "Your face is doing a thing."

The hitter looked surprised, but finally he rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"Just nice to get away from the city, get some fresh air, that's all. All the rain in Portland's been making my hair frizz."

Nate laughed, and just like that, the job was underway, with Hardison teasing Eliot about his hair, Sophie practicing various regional accents and Parker poring over the schematics for the town hall, which looked _alarmingly_ easy to break into - a good thing, since that was what she'd be doing tomorrow morning.

"Rough estimate of how long it'll take?" Nate asked, when she told him this.

She glanced back down at the floorplan, and spotted yet another CCTV blindspot, right next to what looked like an emergency exit. Not even alarmed, either. She snorted. _Amateurs_.

"Twenty minutes," she said. "Fifteen, if the windows were fitted before 1995."

They weren't, it turned out, but she managed it in fifteen anyway. Hardison reached over for a fist bump when she got back, and she had to bite back a smile. 

_I guess Iowa Boston isn't all bad._

Then she frowned.

"Hardison, where is everyone?"

The hacker sighed.

"Nate and Sophie had to go back out to the Hansen farm. Some Bluesky woman poking her nose around. Eliot was meaning to go talk to some folks up that way too, so they said they'd drop him off."

 _Oh_. That didn't sound good.

Hardison shrugged. 

"Not much we can do about it, either way. Nate said once you got back we should just hang around here. Go do some sightseeing or whatever, keep out of trouble until we know what Bluesky's here for."

A pause, as they both considered this. Parker frowned.

"Are there any sights to see in Boston, Iowa?"

Another pause. Hardison checked the time on his phone.

"You did plant the bug, right?"

Parker nodded, and Hardison raised an eyebrow at her.

"Town council meeting should be starting in a few minutes. Wanna listen in?"

Thus began Parker and Hardison's venture into the world of municipal government. Parker felt like she learned a lot. After half an hour or so, she was aware, for example, that the road out to Pine Springs needed resurfacing, that the town sanitation service was to be allocated more funding, that Derek Logan was up to his old tricks again, and that why yes, Councilwoman Brierly's daughter was feeling much better, thank you for asking.

It was weirdly engrossing, the thief thought, if only for the novelty of it. As a kid, she'd always lived in cities. She wondered what it would have been like growing up in a town like this, where everyone knew everyone and nothing was worth stealing.

A sharp gesture from Hardison snapped her out of it. She looked at him. What was-

"- before we wrap up, which is the Bluesky business."

 _Oh_. Municipal government had just gotten a whole lot more relevant. She motioned to Hardison to turn it up.

"Now I know you aren't all the greatest fans of the d-"

"Damn right," another voice interrupted, clearly unimpressed. "It's fishy, is what it is."

A sigh. "I think you'll find it's perfectly-"

"Yes, yes," the voice cut the first speaker off, sounding resigned. "It's all legal, there are loopholes within loopholes, Bluesky's lawyers are the best. We heard you the last ten times. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

A sigh.

"Your objections have been noted, but this is not up for discussion right now. I just wanted to warn you all that a company representative is coming today to finalize things. I don't want any trouble while she's here, you hear me?"

A muted chorus of yes ma'ams followed, seemingly concluding the meeting. A few moments passed before Hardison summed up what they were both thinking.

"Damn. Call Nate?"

They didn't need to, though. As Hardison was reaching for his phone, it rang of its own accord. Hardison put it on speaker.

"Nate! We were just about to call you-"

"They're finalizing a deal this afternoon," the mastermind interrupted. "That's why Bluesky's got people here. Don't know how the hell they think they're getting away with it-"

"They've got a loophole," Parker interjected, and then, because the word was fun to say, "A _loophole_ , Nate!"

A pause, as if she'd caught him off-guard.

"We listened in on the council meeting," Hardison added helpfully. "Didn't catch all the details, but we got the gist."

Another second's pause.

"Okay, well, you guys hang in there, and we'll be with you as soon as we can. We'll have to move the plan up, but I think it'll still work."

Hardison nodded grimly.

"Gonna be a rush job."

A pause.

"Just set up what you can, okay? Clothes, IDs, comms, the works."

"Sure thing," Hardison murmured, without much enthusiasm.

And then they were busy pulling a con together - busy enough that Parker didn't even notice Sophie and Nate arrive at first.

"Ooh, nice character touch, doing your buttons up wrong," Sophie cooed suddenly from behind her. "Makes you look more relatable, if a little ditzy."

Parker blinked and glanced down. Sure enough, her shirt was buttoned wrong. She went to fix it.

"No, hey, keep it," Sophie caught her hand with a slight smile. "It's good."

It'd have to be, Parker thought, on edge despite Sophie's reassurance. The con seemed simple enough. But it felt rushed, somehow. Something wasn't right.

"It's going to be fine," Sophie murmured, as if she could read the thief's mind. "Nate and I will be right there with you, Hardison will be on the comms, and Eliot -"

They both froze, with identical looks of horror. Finally Sophie broke the silence, in a quiet, incredulous voice.

"We forgot Eliot."

Sophie looked stricken, and Parker didn't blame her. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

"Nate, we forgot Eliot!"

The mastermind spun round, confused.

"What do you mean we..." 

He trailed off, his eyes widening comically, before scrambling wordlessly and somewhat sheepishly for his phone.

"Come on, come on, come on," he muttered as the call connected. Sophie looked mortified. Hardison, on the other hand, was biting his lip like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Eliot!" Nate almost shouted, as soon as the hitter picked up. "Thank God! Where are you?"

A pause, and Parker could almost see Eliot's confusion.

"Right where you left me, why?"

Nate shook his head.

"The deal's going down now, so we've had to move things up a little. As in, we're running the con in half an hour."

Another pause as the hitter processed that. Then Eliot sighed.

"Okay, fine. I'm at the road junction. How far away are you?"

Nate winced.

"Yeah, well, funny story..."

An awkward silence, and then a growl on the other end.

"Tell me you didn't."

They were all wincing now.

"Eliot-" Sophie tried, but the hitter cut her off.

"Tell me you did not just straight-up _forget about me_."

A telling silence. The hitter huffed.

"Unbelievable. Un-frickin'-believable. I'm gone for an hour and suddenly I'm the kid from Home Alone."

Another, sulkier pause.

"You coming to get me, then?"

Nate's wince got deeper, if that was even possible, and Eliot sighed.

"Yeah, figures. Is it even worth me hauling ass back into town?"

A pause as Nate thought it over. Then it was the mastermind's turn to sigh.

"I hate to say it, but yes. We need you here, as soon as you can make it. Could you maybe hitch a ride?"

A snort from the hitter.

"This road sees three, four cars a day, at most. I'd be better walking back into town. And no," the hitter interrupted Nate, who'd perked up at that idea, "That is not a feasible option, otherwise I'd have walked out here in the first place."

Nate shut his mouth, stymied. Suddenly Sophie's eyes widened.

"Are you near a barn with a blue door?"

A pause.

"Yeah, why?"

Sophie smiled.

"I remember passing it on the way out. There's a kid's bicycle propped up there, looks abandoned."

A pause.

"No."

"It's-"

"I am not hotfooting it back into town on a _kid's bicycle_."

"Why not?"

"It's stealing!"

Hardison frowned.

"Isn't that our whole deal?"

"Not from kids!"

"We'll put it back when we're done," Sophie interjected reassuringly.

"The bike's too small."

Sophie rolled her eyes.

"It's not that small, and you're not that heavy. You'll cope."

"I'll get weird looks."

"You've dealt with worse, I'm sure."

A pause, frustrated.

"It's _undignified!_ "

Nate shook his head in exasperation.

"I don't know what's got you so hung up on this, but we need you here ten minutes ago. Suck it up, and get over here."

"Nate-"

"No buts. See you in half an hour."

And with that, the mastermind hung up. Parker frowned. The hitter had sounded angry. Real-angry, not his usual Eliot-angry. Hardison caught her eye and shrugged. _Not much we can do about it._ He looked about as happy as Parker felt.

Still, they had a job to do - and with Parker _and_ Hardison grifting, this one was always going to demand their full attention. With a calming breath, Parker pushed her concern for Eliot into the back of her mind and tried her best to lose herself in the con.

It worked, more or less, and when Eliot burst in, right on time, with a quip and a well-timed right hook, she thought she might have been wrong. Eliot didn't seem angry at all. Sure, he shot Nate a black look, as soon as the job was done. But it was the same scowl he gave Parker when she tried to braid his hair, or Hardison, that one time the hacker bought him boxed wine. They all knew it wasn't real, and Eliot knew they knew it. 

The hitter looked worn out, though, Parker realized as they set off again. Sweaty, too. He was holding himself weirdly, she noticed, like he'd pulled a muscle, and she didn't miss how he let Nate be the one to get out and put the bike back. He hadn't volunteered to drive, either, and when a roadside diner came into view, with a flickering neon sign and weeds growing up through the parking lot, Eliot was the first to suggest they take a break. Nate looked surprised, but he pulled in all the same, with a look that was almost concerned.

Parker made sure to catch Eliot as they were all heading into the diner.

"Are you okay?"

The hitter blinked, apparently taken by surprise.

"Yeah, just hungry. Why?"

She shrugged.

"You seemed angry, earlier. You're not now, but you were. Is it because Nate and Sophie forgot about you?"

He fixed her with a look that she couldn't quite decipher and she wondered if she should have phrased it differently. _Gah_. This was why she normally left this talk to Hardison. Finally, the hitter sighed, glancing over to where the others were finding a table, safely out earshot.

"I was angry at myself." he said quietly, shaking his head. "You needed me, and I couldn't get back in time. Nearly cost us the job."

Parker frowned.

"It wasn't your fault."

Eliot shook his head.

"It's not that. I ... you know, never mind. It's dumb." He shook his head. "I got back fine. Let's get some food, okay?"

And with that the hitter turned to the others, and for half an hour or so everything was forgotten in a rush of burgers and fries and bad diner coffee.

It was only once they were finishing up that Parker overheard the couple in the booth behind them, speaking in a hushed whisper that was probably meant to be subtle.

"- swear to God, that's him."

A pause.

"Really?"

A muffled snort.

"Big man sprinting down the highway with a pink bicycle on his back? Kinda stands out. It's _him_."

A moment of awed silence, and Parker felt the pieces click together. _It would explain why he's all achey, I guess._

"Kept pace with us for almost a mile. Couldn't believe it. Nearly-"

Their conversation cut off abruptly as Eliot coughed loudly and stared directly at them, just briefly enough that it might have been an accident. Wisely, they seemed to take a hint, and soon struck up a conversation, at a much more normal volume, about the price of gas, of all things. They kept looking at Eliot weirdly, though, and Parker wondered if any of the others would notice, but Hardison was engrossed in the menu and Nate and Sophie were arguing, or possibly flirting. It was hard to tell sometimes.

Eliot shot her a look - _don't say anything_ \- and she nodded. None of her business if Eliot didn't know how to ride a bike. Because that was the only reasonable answer, when you thought about it. Eliot didn't know how to ride a bike, and didn't want them knowing, for whatever reason. Well, Parker could keep a secret as well as the next person. Better, in fact. One of the perks of being a world-renowned thief. 

Plus, she'd just noticed that the diner served waffles, and that was a _far_ more interesting prospect than Eliot's potentially non-existent bicycle skills.

It didn't stop Eliot pulling her aside as they were leaving.

"Hey, I know what you heard back there, and I j-"

She shook her head.

"I heard nothing," she said, very deliberately. "No idea what you're talking about."

The hitter looked taken aback for a second, but in a good way, Parker thought. He nodded.

"Good," he murmured. "Good."

A pause, as if the hitter were weighing something up.

"I... uh, it was my older sister," he mumbled finally. "Came off her bike when we were kids. Broke her arm real bad..."

He trailed off, but Parker got it, she really did, because she had that same memory, only with her it ended in squealing brakes and blood and many, many hours of therapy.

Eliot must have realized, because he winced and laid a gentle hand on her arm.

"I'm sorry, Parker. I didn't-"

She shook her head.

"It's fine. I get it. Doesn't make you want to pick a bike up again."

"Yeah," the hitter nodded after a while. "Worst thing was, I couldn't do anything. Her arm was busted up and she needed me and I couldn't do a damn thing."

Parker stared out at the road, not sure what to say to that. Not sure if she needed to say anything. Eliot didn't seem to mind. After a moment, he gave her arm a pat, with a lopsided sort of smile.

"Better get going," he murmured, turning towards Lucille, and before Parker knew it she'd wrapped the hitter in a tight, brief hug, for reasons she couldn't quite explain. He stiffened, but hugged her back, and when she pulled away, the lopsided smile had turned into a proper smile, albeit a confused one.

"You came back for us today," she shrugged by way of explanation, all casual, like hugging Eliot was a thing she did on the regular. "We needed you, and you were there, bike or no bike."

The hitter nodded, matching her casual tone.

"Wouldn't want to miss all the action, now, would I?" And then, after a moment's hesitation, "Thank you, Parker."

And then Hardison was shouting at them to get a move on, and Nate and Sophie were argue-flirting about the radio, and Eliot wanted to ride in the back this time, Hardison, so you'd better not spill your unnatural orange crap on me again, I swear to God the stain still hasn't come out!

That, of course, started a full-blown, entirely pointless debate about whether or not Eliot was doing his laundry right - _I know how to use fabric softener, for Chrissake_ \- which Parker soon tuned out, happy to just enjoy the drive. The job had gone well, they were going home, and she'd even gotten waffles out of it.

 _Plus, Eliot's feeling better,_ she thought, with a tiny smile, noticing how much easier the hitter was sitting now. _Maybe he needs more surprise hugs_. She felt the beginnings of a plan coming together. _I bet Hardison could be persuaded to help out..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boston, Iowa doesn't exist, but there *are* a bunch of non-Boston Bostons in the US. Just none that were conveniently located and/or sized for this fic's purposes. (One alternate Boston, in Ohio, is apparently nicknamed Helltown, though, and looks very creepy).


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't stalkerish, Parker thought, whatever Hardison said. She just wanted to know where Eliot kept sneaking off to on Thursdays - and why he was trying to keep it secret. 

He was too casually dressed for it to be a date, she thought, crossing the road a safe distance behind him, and it was too early for him to be meeting his army friends - most of them would still be working. But he'd have mentioned anything work-related, she hoped.

What else could Eliot be doing? Parker frowned. Perhaps it was a foodie thing. Did cooking clubs exist? She wasn't sure. Clubs in general were a bit of a mystery to her. She was pretty sure they didn't warrant this level of secrecy, either way. He'd have said something about a cooking club, right?

A small part of her wondered if it might not be linked to Eliot's Shady Past, and that's why he hadn't said anything. It was one of the team's unspoken rules, after all, that nobody talked about Eliot's Shady Past unless they really had to.

Only she didn't think that warlords and contract killers hung around neighborhoods like the one Eliot was walking through, with its hipster bars and new-agey boutiques. They _certainly_ didn't frequent quirky indie coffee shops, she thought, circling back to the idea that it might be a date as Eliot peered through the shop window. 

He headed in, so Parker followed, snagging a passerby's hat as a disguise. Any other day, she realized, she'd be enjoying this, relishing the challenge of stopping the hitter spotting her. She was too curious for that now, though. 

Slipping in with a group of hipsters, she scanned the room. Eliot was near the back, she noticed, behind a sort of screen thing. With somebody, for sure, although she couldn't see who, and smiling. Relaxed, even, judging by his body language.

 _A date, after all_ , she thought, wondering why that left a funny taste in her mouth. She decided to listen in anyway, just for a second. 

"Et ensuite, j'ai venu ici pour boire du café."

The voice was female, warm and friendly, but oddly hesitant. And Parker hadn't missed the grammatical mistake. But why-

"Ah, tu es venue ici, après avoir quitté le théâtre?"

She frowned at how slowly Eliot was speaking. He'd corrected the mistake too. Subtly, but there was definitely an emphasis there.

"Oui, j'ai - oh, bother," the woman said and Parker gave a start, because she _knew_ that voice, "It's "je suis", isn't it? Always with the être verbs. Je suis venue ici pour boire du café."

Sophie sighed and Eliot smiled supportively.

"Hey, at least you spotted it yourself this time. That's progress. Tu as beaucoup appris."

A pause.

"Appris?"

"Past tense of apprendre."

There was a rustling noise, like the grifter was writing that down.

The conversation continued from there, and Parker found herself relaxing. _Nothing shady_ , she thought, with a certain satisfaction, _and not a date, either_. She still wasn't sure why that was important, but somehow it was.

Then the barista was asking for her order, so she ordered a cappuccino, as chocolatey as he could make it. To go, thank you. She didn't want Eliot to spot her after all.

She'd just tell Hardison that it was nothing to worry about, she decided as she left, coffee in hand. She dropped the woman's hat on a nearby bench, just in case its owner came back for it, before glancing back at the coffee shop. She could just about see Sophie and Eliot in the back, chatting away, and she smiled, despite herself. This was a secret she could keep.

* * *

Eliot frowned, suddenly tense. The pub was closed. The door was locked, the lights were out, the chairs were neatly stacked on tables. The place ought to be empty, apart from Eliot in the kitchen.

 _So why_ , he thought, _can I hear voices?_

He grabbed a knife from the side. A chef's knife wasn't ideal for fending off intruders, of course. But it looked menacing, and it's not like Eliot really needed a knife to hurt people, anyway.

There were two people there, he thought, edging towards the door. It sounded like they were hunting for something, rifling around behind the bar. They weren't even trying to be quiet. Eliot fought the urge to roll his eyes, irritated. _Not only are they burglars, they're incompetent burglars. Typical._

He shook his head and wondered, only half joking, if he should let them off with a warning, maybe give them a few practical tips for next time. Then he froze as one of them spoke, his voice very familiar.

"I told you, we don't have one."

Eliot felt the tension drain away, replaced by confusion. What could _Nate_ be doing here? And who was with him?

That question, at least, was answered as Sophie spoke up, sounding frustrated.

"We do, I've seen people playing."

There was a strange quality to her voice, something Eliot couldn't quite pin down, like she'd gotten more British than usual. 

"Maybe they bring their own?" 

Nate sounded a little off too, come to think of it. Before Eliot could figure it out, Sophie made a dismissive noise.

"Nobody does that. We must have one. Maybe it's in the back."

Eliot blanched. If Sophie went through to the back, she'd run straight into him, and he'd have to explain why he was hovering at the door with a large, menacing-looking knife.

Thankfully, that was when Nate made a triumphant sort of sound.

"Found it! It was on the shelf under the... the... what's it called? The coffee table!"

They'd been drinking, Eliot realized. This was probably the end of date night, he thought, with a sinking feeling, suddenly very aware that Hardison had taken the keys for the back when he'd locked up earlier. Meaning that Eliot's only route out was straight through the front, where _they_ were.

_Damnit, Hardison._

There were some giggles then, and a fumbling sound that Eliot dearly wished he could un-hear, but before things could go any further, Nate was pulling away. Eliot heaved a sigh of relief as Sophie groaned.

"Really, Nate? Now?"

The mastermind chuckled.

"You said you'd teach me, didn't you?"

A pause, and Sophie sighed, but in a fond sort of way.

"I guess I did."

Another pause, and then a rattling sound. _Something small_ , Eliot thought. _And wooden_. Then Sophie spoke again, all prim and proper.

"Right. First things first. These are called pawns. They go here."

A noise.

"These are castles."

Another noise.

"And these are your knights."

"Knights," Nate murmured. "I like the knights."

"You would," Sophie smiled, and this time they were definitely kissing. 

Eliot blushed furiously, and wondered if he could climb out the back window. There was a drop, sure. But it could hardly be worse than the alternative, could it?

Somebody _moaned_ , and Eliot's mind was made up. Back window it was.

 _Like catching your parents making out_ , he thought as he hurried through. _Sweet enough in theory. Super gross in practice._

* * *

The first time, she thought it was an accident, the second a coincidence. But the third time Sophie caught Nate hovering awkwardly over Hardison as he did routine surveillance work, she knew something was up.

"You looking to pick up some tricks?"

The mastermind spun round, looking guilty.

"No, no, not at all. Just catching up, you know? We were talking. About Dungeons and Dragons."

Behind Nate's back, Hardison was making a face at Sophie, a face she could read all too easily.

_Yeah, I don't know either, but if he'll let me talk about the campaign I'm planning, I'm not complaining._

She narrowed her eyes.

"Dungeons and Dragons, you say?"

Nate winced the wince of a man who had committed to his bit, but was already regretting it.

"Yup. Lots of adventures. And magic. And... elves. Adventures with magical elves. Great game."

He looked horribly out of his depth, bless him.

"I didn't know you played."

Nate swallowed nervously.

"I... uh, I've dabbled. In the past. I played as a... thief. A regular human thief."

She raised an eyebrow.

"A regular human thief. How... imaginative."

Nate shrugged.

"You know what they say, stick to what you do best."

He looked pained, and Sophie decided to help him out. _Since he clearly doesn't want to be the one leading this conversation._

"Well Hardison will be pleased to have a thief in the party, I'm sure. You've been working on a campaign, right?"

That, of course, let to an animated discussion of various quests Hardison had planned, NPCs that needed fleshing out, and lore that wasn't quite there yet. Sophie made sure to nod and smile at the right points, but her attention was on Nate. _Time to figure out what's really going on._

He was asking questions, Sophie soon noticed, and what's more, by standing in the hacker's blind spot and gesturing frequently, he was forcing Hardison to turn and look at him as he answered. Other times, meanwhile, the mastermind would also glance over at the screen, enough to keep Hardison on task, but not so much that he would _realize_ he was being kept on task. 

It was subtle. _Just the kind of thing I'd do,_ Sophie thought, with a jolt of flattered surprise. _Nate's been taking notes._

From there, it was simple. Nate was grifting, after all, and a grifter always wants their mark to _do_ something. You want to figure out the game? Watch the mark. Nine times out of ten, they'll give it away, and Hardison was no exception. Chatting away about goblins and talismans, he was inputting code at his regular speed - barely glancing at the screen as he did it.

 _Sneak-mentoring_ , Sophie thought, trying not to look too amused. _He's turned typing drills into a con._

She watched for a while longer, until something less routine came up and Hardison waved them away, making an apologetic face.

"Security's been beefed up, I'm gonna need a moment."

"No worries," Nate said, sounding particularly smug, clapping Hardison on the shoulder before turning to leave. 

Left alone, with an obviously puzzled hacker, Sophie wondered if she should even the odds and tell him what was going on, for fairness' sake if nothing else.

Then again, she thought, it was harmless enough, and Hardison really ought to learn. This way, Nate might even pick up a hobby. _Goodness knows the man needs one..._

Hardison raised his eyebrows questioningly, and the grifter pulled a face.

"Search me," she shrugged, feeling not a shred of guilt.

Hardison looked like he bought it.

_Deception check? Aced it._

* * *

If you asked Nate when it had started, he couldn't have said.

He might have pointed you to the job in San Francisco, with the architects, or the job in Toronto, with the zoo. Or Dubai, possibly?

Whatever the case, by the time somebody questioned it, it was already a habit, a catchphrase, a ritual, almost. Any time you were tying a bow, for whatever reason, you just had to say it.

"Like tying your shoe," Sophie would murmur, wrapping the team's Christmas presents.

"Like tying your shoe," Parker would echo, with a grin, working on her climbing rig.

"Like tying your shoe," Eliot would rumble, unthinkly, _tying his damn shoe_.

It drove him mad, but sometimes Nate would even catch himself doing it, the words slipping out unbidden.

Helping Sophie with the back of a halter-neck dress?

"Like tying your shoe."

Putting on a bow tie?

"Like tying your shoe."

Binding up a masterfully-forged vellum scroll, that one time?

"Like tying your shoe."

Somebody had to know where it had started. Still, that person wasn't Nate, and after a while the mastermind was grudgingly forced to add it to the list of Stuff We Just Do And Nobody Knows Why - a surprisingly long list that generally baffled outsiders.

Maggie, for example, hadn't understood why it was so vitally important for Eliot to make the team garlic bread the night before an out-of-town job.

Tara had been taken aback by Nate's refusal to move any of the kitschy knick-knacks that Parker periodically deposited, without warning or explanation, on his desk.

And Sterling, of all people, had the gall to call the team weird when he'd caught Sophie and Hardison giving Harlan Leverage III the now-customary nod as they passed his portrait in the back of the brewpub.

In those cases, Nate was quick to defend his team. The garlic bread was good for morale. The knick-knacks kept Parker happy. The portrait had a very piercing stare, _you_ try walking past without acknowledging it!

The shoe thing, though? That smacked of superstition, something Nate didn't generally hold with. A superstitious team was a predictable team, after all, an identifiable team, a team with a _weakness_. One mumbled phrase didn't seem like much, admittedly. But better crews had been caught on less; Nate had caught better crews on less. 

He meant to have a word with them about it. He really did. And then Annabelle happened.

She was beautiful, some of Hardison's best work. Her dress was flouncy, her eyes bright, her porcelain face terrifying, but hopefully appealing to the sort of person who collected china dolls. All that was missing was a bow for her perfect, golden hair, and Parker, thankfully, had it covered.

"Like tying your shoe."

The thief smiled, and Hardison smiled back, and Nate, working so quietly they'd clearly forgotten he was in the room, almost choked.

It wasn't that Parker had said the thing. That wasn't particularly surprising. But it was the first time Nate had heard her saying it to _Hardison_ , and somehow that changed things. Whatever the words were for the two of them, they weren't a superstition, or a weakness. They were... something else. Something that wasn't Nate's to classify.

Turning back to the files he was skimming, Nate sighed, and that was that. _I guess the shoe thing's here to stay._

He got back to work, less irritated than he probably ought to have been. He supposed there were worse rituals to have, at the end of the day. Plus, anything that irritated Sterling couldn't be _all_ bad, could it?

* * *

In Hardison's defence, he thought Parker had been kidnapped.

Her apartment, after all, had been silent and empty, her gear neatly stowed away, giving no clues as to the thief's whereabouts.

It wasn't suspicious, in and of itself. But then Hardison noticed the scuff marks on the door, like something bulky had been dragged out that way. An unwieldy piece of furniture? Or, a small, anxious part of his brain supplied, an unconscious thief? 

He dialed Eliot's number almost without thinking. 

_It's probably nothing_ , he told himself, feeling a little ridiculous.

"Hi, you've reached Eliot Spencer. Leave a message, unless you're trying to get me to come over and cook for you, I swear to God, Hardison..."

Any other time, that would have made the hacker laugh. Instead, he groaned and tried Parker's cell, willing her to pick up.

"Hey, Parker here."

"Parker? Thank-"

"Only kidding, this is my voicemail. Gotcha! Please le-"

He hung up in frustration, and wondered what to do.

He could go home - _should_ go home, probably. There was no real evidence that anything untoward had happened, after all, and Parker could handle herself.

But Hardison's mind kept straying back to the con they'd pulled earlier - featuring a mob boss with a penchant for making people disappear. He thought about how unusual it was for Parker and Eliot _both_ to be unavailable.

Images of them shoved roughly into the back of an unmarked van flashed before Hardison's eyes unbidden, and his stomach did something unpleasant. 

_That's a no to going home, then._

His fingers trembling, he used his phone to ping Parker's cell, and Eliot's too for good luck. Seconds later, he frowned. The results showed them in the same location, a park.

 _No unmarked van, at least_ , he thought, resolutely ignoring all the _other_ bad things that could happen to somebody in a park at night.

He checked where exactly it was, blinked, then hesitated. The smart thing to do now, he knew, would be to call Nate. But the park was _five minutes away_ , goddamnit, and they could be in trouble.

Hardison set off running.

He'd just arrived and ducked down behind a parked car, when a scream cut through the air.

Hardison tensed up, then frowned when a second scream followed. It was Parker, sure enough. But it wasn't a terrified scream, or a pained scream or any of the screams he'd been dreading - if anything, it was an _excited_ scream, a giddy whoop.

Slowly, with a mix of relief and curiosity, he peeked out from behind the car. 

The sight that greeted him was as surreal as it was amazing.

Parker, her arms outstretched and her hair flashing in the moonlight, was running along, every bit the proud dad, behind Eliot, who, as far as Hardison could tell, was on a bike.

Not a motorbike, or anything like that. Just... a _bike_ bike. Medium sized, dark-colored and just heavy enough to leave scuff marks if jostled through a door impatiently enough.

_Damnit, Parker._

Heaving a sigh, Hardison leaned back against the car, letting the noise of whatever Parker and Eliot were doing wash over him.

"You're doing it!"

"No I'm - what the hell, Parker? Parker!? Where'd you-"

A noise of tyres on asphalt and a raucous peal of laughter.

"Not funny, Parker! I could have fallen off!"

"That's what the helmet's for!"

A growl, cut off like the hitter had reconsidered halfway through.

"I guess you're right. Where - "

A pause, and Hardison guessed Parker was pointing at something.

"I got all that way on my own?"

The hitter's voice was quiet, almost awed, and hearing it, Hardison felt something melt slightly, deep down inside of him. 

Then Parker said something, and Eliot was back on the bike, wobbling his way down the path, Parker tripping excitedly along beside him. 

Hardison watched until they disappeared, confusion and affection warring for dominance.

 _There'll be time to ask tomorrow_ , he thought, finally. _And if they're not telling?_ Somewhere in the distance, there was another whoop, deeper and rougher, and Hardison smiled despite himself. _I guess there's room for a couple more secrets between us all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go! A bonus chapter to wrap up that somehow turned into five bonus mini-chapters - I just hope it did the characters justice!
> 
> As usual, a huge thanks to everyone who commented (you make my day, every time!) and to all of you more generally for sticking with me and this fic :) hope y'all enjoyed as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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